Comfort
by obsessedwithstabler
Summary: Michael is sick, and Fiona takes care of him in her own way.


Just a cute little bite of fluff I'm sure we could all use after that finale. Michael is sick, and Fiona takes care of him. I borrowed parts of the Sinead O'Connor song, One More Day, which of course isn't mine. But it fits very nicely. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine!

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Fiona knew something was wrong the moment Michael slid out of their bed.

Sharing a bed with him for three years had taught her a lot about him, including when he wasn't feeling well. He would never admit it to her, so she learned to pick up on the little things, like restless tossing and turning (or, rather, more than usual), changes in his breathing patterns, and even his expression while he slept next to her.

As he hurried away from the bed, Fiona sat up and watched his retreating form. "Are you okay, Michael?"

He didn't answer as he went into the bathroom. A few moments later, Fiona winced as he started to vomit.

Grabbing one of his shirts, she quickly pulled it over her head. Then she padded into the bathroom. Michael was on his knees in front of the toilet, his fingers clutching at the cold porcelain.

Her heart ached for him. He had only been sick once before while they were together, and it had nearly required a trip to the hospital. Madeline had told her that he had been that way his entire life. He had only been sick a few times, but all of those times were very bad. Grabbing a washcloth from under the sink, she turned the faucet on and held the cloth under it. Then she rung out the cloth and knelt down behind Michael.

"I'm okay, Fi," he groaned.

"Sure you are." Folding the washcloth, she dabbed it against the back of his neck. Then she held it firmly against his hot forehead. "Can you get up?"

"Wait…" He heaved again, and when he was finished, he was so drained that he allowed Fiona to help him to his feet and out of the bathroom, back to their bed.

She pulled the sheets back, then helped him into the bed. His skin was hot to her touch, but as he laid down, he was shivering noticeably. She covered him with a sheet, then sat down beside him and gently laid the cool, damp washcloth over his forehead.

Michael opened his eyes, and he was surprised by the concern in her expression. "I'm okay, Fi," he insisted again.

Instead of snapping at him, she gently pulled the sheet tighter around him. "Shh…" Then she covered him with a warm quilt. "I want you to close your eyes and get some sleep."

"But…"

"No buts, Michael. We don't have any jobs or clients to take care of. Just focus on getting better."

_This is new_, he mused as she proceeded to tuck the blanket around him. It was very rare for her to be so gentle, so affectionate and protective. He smiled sleepily.

Reaching out, she tucked another pillow under his head. Then she ran the back of her hand over his cheek. "Sleep, Michael…"

His eyes slowly drifted shut, and his breathing evened out.

She stayed right there with him, stroking his cheek until she was certain he was sleeping deeply. Then she slid out of the bed, grabbing her phone before she headed outside so she wouldn't disturb his much needed sleep. She called Madeline first, and the older woman promised to stop by later with some soup. Then she called Sam and told him that Michael wouldn't be able to work on any jobs for a few days. The older man was concerned, but he readily agreed and made Fiona promise that she would take care of him. She assured him that she would. Then she closed her phone and headed back inside.

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A few hours later, Michael awoke suddenly, gasping and drenched in sweat. "Fi!"

"I'm right here, Michael." She closed her book and reached out, gently touching Michael's shoulder.

Shivering, he drew her into his arms and held her tightly. "I thought… I thought you were gone," he rasped, clinging to her with a surprising amount of strength.

"Why would you think that, Michael?" She wrapped her arms firmly around him, wincing at the heat that radiated off of his skin.

He buried his nose in her hair. "Don't know… thought you went back to Ireland…"

Her grip tightened on him. "I'm not going back to Ireland. And I'm not going to leave you."

Logically he knew that, but his fevered mind tried to convince him otherwise. So he held her even closer, somewhat reassured by her presence.

After a while, she slowly eased out of his grip. She gently grabbed the hem of his damp shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor. Then she gripped his shoulders and gently eased him back against the pillows. "Just relax. I'm going to get you some water."

He watched her go, irrationally afraid that she wouldn't return. What had he done to deserve an angel like her? Absolutely nothing.

Fiona went into the kitchen and poured a cold glass of water for him. Then she grabbed a clean washcloth to replace the warm one he'd thrown off in his sleep. "Do you think you can keep down some yogurt, Michael?" she called out to him.

He turned onto his side, groaning softly at the thought of eating anything. "No."

Taking the washcloth and glass of water, she went back to the bed and sat down beside him. "Drink a little water," she murmured, helping him sit up.

He eyed the water hesitantly, but finally took a few small sips before shaking his head to indicate he was done.

Fiona set the glass of water aside and produced two tablets. "Take these, then you can lay back down."

He took the tablets and swallowed them dry, sighing quietly when she placed the cool washcloth against his forehead. "I don't deserve you, Fi."

She smiled and laid him back against the pillows. "You just try to rest."

His hand reached out and closed around her wrist.

With another smile, she gently patted his hand. Then she kissed his forehead and ran her thumb over his eyes to close them. "Just listen…"

_My love, more dear than this life_

_You are to me_

_Your kiss more clear_

_Than the crystal of the sea_

Her voice was soft and lilting, and he smiled. She had a beautiful voice, but she never sang unless they were alone in their loft.

Fiona ran her fingers lightly through his damp hair as her words changed to Irish.

Michael turned toward her, his eyes still closed and a small smile playing across his lips.

_Is ciste mo chroi, do chroi_

_Sabhalaim comh thair_

_O's follas gur lion do chroi_

_Dom grasa, a stor_

When she was finished, he was sleeping deeply. With a smile, she leaned over and lightly kissed his lips. "Tá tú mo ghrá, anois agus go deo," she whispered into his ear.

He continued to sleep as she pulled away. Grabbing her book, she snuggled into his side and began reading. She hated seeing him sick, and she would never admit it to anyone else, she enjoyed taking care of him. It was just about the only time he would really let her.

Groaning softly, Michael pressed himself into Fiona and draped his arm over her waist. Then he buried his face in her arm and sighed.

Fiona just smiled and enjoyed the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against hers. "Sleep well, Michael." Then she focused on her book. But she kept one eye on him as he slept, just to make sure that he was okay.

The End!

A/N: The lyrics in Irish translate to "My heart is a treasure, your heart I treasure like the sunset. It's obvious that you filled your heart with my love, my dear." And Fiona said to Michael, "You are my love, now and forever." I had a lot of fun translating that stuff, and I'll probably do it again in other stories. I'm surprised we haven't seen Fiona speak Irish already. LMAO. Thanks for reading, and please review!


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